


Rear Window

by townshend



Category: Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Cross-Generational Friendship, Crossover, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-18 23:39:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5947651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/townshend/pseuds/townshend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Descent of the Holy Mother is naught but the Descent of the Devil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rear Window

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Masu_Trout](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masu_Trout/gifts).



For Heather, moving was nothing new.

As a child, she and her father had moved in and out of apartments across Maine so often she had a hard time memorizing her addresses. At the time, she didn't really understand why - at school when she'd come in the middle of the year or prefaced any new introduction with "I move a lot", people would assume her dad was in the military, and eventually she stopped correcting them because it was easier.

It meant she'd seen a lot of empty apartments over the years. Usually, her dad would clap her on the shoulder and say, "Look at this! It's a fresh start for both of us," but this time, the fresh start was only for her.

There was the sound of jostling behind her, and Heather spun around to see Douglas in the doorway, and large box in his arms. She rushed to help him, and she couldn't help but smile a little.

"Woah!" she said, grabbing the corner that was threatening to slip from his grip, "Didn't we agree that you wouldn't move anything heavy by yourself?"

Maybe it wasn't _just_ a fresh start for her, after all... maybe it was for him, too.

She barely knew him, but right now, there was no one on Earth she trusted more. It was comforting, but it was a little scary, too.

 

 

That night, Heather lay in her room, boxes scattered around her, and listened to the sounds of the building. They were new sounds - South Ashfield Heights didn't sound like Daisy Villas. They'd picked this building because Douglas said the shape made him a little nostalgic for an old movie he'd seen, and it was right next to the subway, so Heather didn't have to rely on Douglas and his old truck to get around. It was close to a lot of stores and things too, so she was confident she could get a job and start helping with the rent.

Never mind that doing anything right now, especially riding a subway car, sounded like scaling a mountain without climbing gear.

Heather swung legs over her bed, crossed to the window, and peered out. The building was in a U-shape, and across the way, she could see the other apartments across from her.

The other side of the building had three floors instead of two, for some reason, and Heather idly scanned the windows on the third floor, not really purposefully attempting to snoop, but more getting a lay of the land around her. That had served her well in Silent Hill, after all, and it was hard to switch off so many habits that had saved her, even if they had been formed quickly.

Just across the courtyard, Heather saw a man standing at his window, peering out towards her. He glanced over his shoulder, then suddenly started banging on the window. Heather squinted, confused, trying to get a better view. She leaned towards the window, curious, and accidentally bumped against a cup of water she'd set there earlier in the day - it fell to the floor, spilling water everywhere, and Heather jumped back, spooked, before realizing what she'd done.

"Damnit," she murmured, and she felt instantly foolish for the rush of her heartbeat that had accompanied a stupid cup falling over. Another leftover habit...

When she looked back out the window, the man was gone and the window showed nothing of interest.

She stared for a moment longer, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong.

"Everything is fine here," she told herself after a moment, in a voice so soft the words almost didn't escape her lips. "You have to move on if you want anything to change."

Eventually, she settled back to sleep, but rest was elusive. Heather had nightmares about giving birth in a dirty apartment, and the distorted wailing of a baby she desperately did not want.

 

 

The next morning, they started unpacking - when Heather came out into the living room, Douglas looked like he'd already been awake for hours, but neither of them mentioned the exhausted expressions on each other's faces. He'd started in the kitchen, and Heather noticed a box with cups and mugs had been torn into, along with a coffee maker already set up.

"I see you're prioritizing," she joked, and Douglas smiled a little. His shoulders moved a bit with a near-silent laugh.

"Gotta make it through today," he said. "Want a cup?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Not without creamer."

"Maybe we can make it to the grocery store later today," he said, and turned back to the box he'd been unpacking. Heather grabbed a box cutter on the counter and ripped into one of her own, carefully opening cardboard flaps and peering inside.

Just more dishes...

She reached up to open a cupboard and it suddenly broke away from its hinges. Heather gasped, stepping back, but only the top hinge (and part of the bottom) broke; the cupboard door hung at a crooked angle but stayed partially fastened to the wood. Douglas turned to see what was wrong, then sighed.

Crossing the kitchen, he grasped the corner of the door and swung it back and forth a bit - it squealed and came a little more loose in his grasp. With him standing this close, Heather could smell Douglas' cologne, and even though it wasn't too close to the smell of her father's, the similar sensation was overwhelming. She took a step back, feeling suddenly rigid and far away, but Douglas didn't seem to notice. He was took focused on scrutinizing the rusted hinges on the cabinet door.

"Not sure where my tools are in all this," he said. "But the superintendent should be able to fix this."

"I'll go ask," Heather volunteered. Anything to escape the kitchen right now. Without another word, Heather moved around the bar, through the living room, and out the front door.

The apartment was quiet for the most part. It didn't seem like many kids lived here. Heather was down the stairs by the mailboxes in just a couple minutes, trying to remember where the superintendent lived.

There was a pretty woman in scrubs checking her mail - she sighed loudly, enough that it got Heather's attention. It looked like her mailbox was overflowing.

"Uh, excuse me," Heather said, and the woman looked up. The look on her face was defensive, and she was clearly sizing Heather up. Weird. "I-- was just wondering if you know where the superintendent lives? I just moved in, so--"

"Oh..." The woman looked a little relieved, and she quickly shut her mailbox against the barrage of letters. "You're new here? You just missed all the excitement."

"Excitement?" Heather echoed. "What do you mean?"

"There was a woman almost killed in her apartment a few days ago, up on the third floor," the woman said, lowering her voice a little. "It's pretty bad. I'm pretty sure they still have crime scene tape up on her door."

Heather just stared, clearly disturbed. Finally, "What?"

"Wait-- you're not just new to this building, you're new to this whole town, aren't you?"

"We... just moved here from Portland," Heather said. For some reason, her first instinct had been to say "from Silent Hill," but she'd luckily stopped herself.

The woman chuckled, whistling low. "Well, you should make sure you don't travel alone for a while," she warned. "There's a serial killer here. Anyway, the superintendent lives on this side." She pointed towards a door to Heather's left, gathered her mail, and left.

Up on the third floor... Heather remembered the man banging on the window last night and felt her stomach tighten.

She just wanted to live a normal life, not get involved in anything else dangerous.

Finally, after what felt like ages unable to move, just processing the strange encounter she'd just had, Heather turned down the hallway, opening the door to the left side of the building.

 

 

The superintendent was a strange man. Heather didn't really mind - after all, her dad had definitely been a "quirky writer type" - but still, interacting with him was a little unnerving sometimes. She knocked on the door and he called to come in, which was weird enough. Heather stepped into the living room, feeling awkward.

Frank Sunderland was rooting around in a large cabinet with any small drawers, clearly looking for something. "Now where did I put that..." he trailed off, then suddenly seemed to realize Heather was there, turning towards her and looking curious for a moment.

"Oh, you're the new tenant," he said, and she nodded.

"Uh, one of our cabinet doors broke off," she said. They stood there in silence for a moment before Heather continued, "We were-- hoping you could take a look. Or at least lend us a screwdriver or something. We don't really have any tools unpacked..."

"Oh... those old doors..." Frank looked pensive for a moment, then nodded. "Right, let me get my tool bag." He walked down the hallway, leaving the room for a moment. When he returned, he had an old faded orange bag slung over his shoulder. "Okay, lead the way."

Once upstairs, Douglas stepped out of the kitchen to give Frank room to work. He crossed the space to survey the broken door for a moment, then sighed, setting his bag down and getting to work.

"James helped me put all of these up," Frank murmured, screwing a new screw in place. "A long time ago..."

"James?" Heather asked. Maybe there was another handyman she should have gone to... she glanced to Douglas, but he only pressed his lips together, shaking his head. Frank was quiet for a moment, working. Just when Heather thought he wouldn't answer, he did.

"My son," he said. "He went missing ... a few years ago. Douglas helped look for him, but..."

Heather tilted her head, suddenly feeling very awkward. "I'm sorry," she said, automatically. She vaguely remembered Douglas talking about a missing person in Silent Hill... could this be the same case?

Probably not... Douglas was a private investigator, he probably had a lot of cases he worked on.

"Seems like there's always something strange going on," Frank said, his voice distant. "Like just last week, before you moved in..."

Heather wondered if he was talking about the woman who'd been attacked... "Do you mean...?"

"There's an apartment upstairs whose tenant I can't seem to reach," he said. "Even when I try the key, it doesn't work... and then his next door neighbor was hurt..."

Heather's eyebrows shot up on her forehead, clearly confused and concerned by this comment.

"You can't open the door?" Douglas asked.

"Maybe he's chained it from the inside," Frank said. "But actually, it's more like it's sealed off entirely..."

When Frank finished, he swung the door back and forth a few times, and it stayed in place. There was still a creak, but he seemed satisfied.

"Let me know if you need anything else," he said, and took his bag and left.

"What the hell," Heather breathed. "This place is weird."

"Sunderland has had some hard times in his life," Douglas said, as if by way of explanation.

"No, I mean--" Heather sighed, frowning, before relaying the story she'd heard at the mailboxes. Douglas was unpacking, but clearly listening.

"Are you worried living here?" he asked after a moment's silence. Heather weighed that thought.

"I don't know," she said. "I don't think I feel any more scared here than anywhere else." That maybe revealed a little more weakness than she wanted. She hesitated. "I mean-- I don't know. After everything we saw, I think... at least for a little while... I'm going to be fucked up no matter where we go."

He raised an eyebrow at her, but didn't chastise her for her language, which was a relief. Heather didn't think she could handle someone trying to parent her right now. When he did speak, it was something else entirely.

"Heather... if you ever need to talk..."

"I know," she said, quickly, cutting him off. "...Thanks. Douglas. I know."

For hours afterwards, they unpacked their respective boxes in silence.

 

 

It was 7:30PM and they'd finished the kitchen and most of the living room. They'd just come back from the local grocery store, and Heather had helped Douglas put the groceries away before saying she needed some fresh air and stepping outside.

She didn't go down to the courtyard. Instead, Heather went upstairs to the third floor and crept through the door.

The air felt thick and heavy and something seemed wrong - Heather felt nauseous almost instantly, a sensation she hadn't had since coming back from Silent Hill. She stumbled back towards the door, not even really reconsidering coming up here. It was more like an involuntary reaction of self-preservation than something she'd thought through.

Instead, Heather forced herself forward, turning the corner.

Out of the corner of her eye, the walls began to ripple and then spots of blood began to soak through, as if on a bandage. Soon, they were glistening with blood. The world around her seemed to warp and change, and she gasped, going still with fear. Some of the tiles on the floor seemed to rip away and dissolve into smoke, leaving a metal grating beneath, and paint on the wood panelling of the doors curled and peeled away from the walls in places. Heather's eyes welled with tears. Why was this happening here? How was this happening to her again?

She needed to find Douglas - but as she turned, the door to 302 suddenly flew open and a man stumbled out, almost losing his footing. Heather jumped back, startled and already on high alert.

He was just a normal person, another person like her, not a monster. He looked a little older than her, with a shirt and pants with small stains of blood all too familiar to her. The man didn't immediately notice her. When he spoke, it seemed to be to himself.

"Oh no... not here too..."

It echoed Heather's sentiments exactly.

From the end of the hall, a woman in a party dress covered in wounds and bandages (her arm was even in a sling) approached him, and the man looked up, seeing her, instantly calling her name.

"Eileen!"

They reunited, and Heather was starting to feel a little uncomfortable watching.

"Hey!" she called. They both snapped to attention, staring towards her - she took a few steps forward on shaky legs, then forced herself to get a grip, taking a few more with more certainty. "What-- what's going on?"

"Who are you?" the man asked.

 

 

In ten minutes, they'd introduced themselves - and Heather was _sure_ she recognized Henry as the man at the window, but she didn't bring it up.

"You... you said you've seen this before?" Henry asked, uncertainly. "In Silent Hill?"

"There's something about that town," Eileen said, her gaze and voice both far away. Heather couldn't help but feel a little uneasy around her.

"We need to find Douglas-- my--" Heather hesitated, suddenly unsure how to refer to him. "My friend," she finished, finally. "I have to make sure he's okay."

"Yeah... okay." Henry nodded, and Heather turned to lead the way out of the hall and down the staircase.

Before they could even get to the second floor (Eileen moved a little slowly, and Henry stayed stubbornly at her side, which Heather couldn't blame him for), Heather heard Douglas' voice calling her name. Her heart leapt in her throat. It sounded like he was down in the apartment lobby, and she leaned over the railing, seeing him standing helplessly in the middle of the first floor.

"Douglas!" she cried, and rushed down the stairs. Without thinking, Heather charged towards him, clasping the man in her arms. He was caught by surprise, still for a moment, before he returned the embrace.

"Heather..." He trailed off, and she pulled away after a moment, dropping arms to her side. "How is this...?"

"I don't think it's me," Heather said, slowly. "There are other people here-- the people Frank told us about--"

"They're involved in this, too?"

Eventually, Henry came down the stairs, and Heather turned towards him.

"I don't think _we_ have anything to do with this," Heather said, a little quietly. "But where is everyone else? Where did everyone go?"

Her dad had called it an "other world". Had they been taken to that other world? But they were hours away from Silent Hill... how could the spiritual power in that town have a hold of them here? Unless somehow, it had been spread...

Could that religion have something to do with all of this?

Heather had so many questions she wanted to ask them... but now, with Eileen covered in marks and looking off into the distance, and Henry looking exhausted and scared, and the world crazy around them... it just didn't seem like the right time.

If they made it all through this, maybe they could have coffee together or something... but right now, they had more pressing concerns.

...Where was Eileen, anyway? Had Henry left her upstairs?

"We have to find Walter," Henry said. His words were quiet and stilted. "Eileen, she..." He shook his head.

"Where is she?" Heather asked.

"She left... she said she was going to find him."

Heather's first reaction was confusion, then anger - why would he have let her go by herself in the shape she was in?

"She went off on her own? Are you kidding me?" Her voice was raised, and Douglas laid a hand on her shoulder, wordlessly pulling her down from her irritation.

Getting angry at Henry wouldn't help. He was right. If Eileen had gone to find someone - whoever "Walter" was - they needed to get after her and find them both.

"Do you know where she went?" Heather asked.

Henry hesitated, then nodded. "I think so."

"Who is Walter?" Douglas asked. No surprise there - he was a P.I., and he probably was too curious for his own good.

"Walter Sullivan," Henry said, cautiously. "He's..." He paused, looking like there was any number of ways he could continue that sentence. Finally, "he's the reason this is happening."

"He's causing this?" Heather asked. "Does he have something to do with the religion from Silent Hill?"

Henry looked surprised. "You know about that?"

More than she wanted to. Heather frowned. She didn't like being here, without a weapon. Without anything useful to defend herself, or Douglas. Henry could probably take care of himself, but... Douglas had gotten hurt last time. And now he was being dragged into this again, probably because he'd decided to stick with her instead of ditching her like any normal person would have.

"Do you have anything I can use as a weapon?" she asked. It didn't answer Henry's question, but he didn't seem to notice.

"There's something in my room," he said, nodding. "I think... that's the way to get to Walter, too."

"Then let's head there," Heather said. Henry turned back to the staircase and led the way.

Henry's apartment gave Heather the creeps.

It was the exact same layout as the one they'd just moved into, but if the air had felt heavy and weighted and naueous feeling _outside_ , it was ten times worse when she stepped through the door. Heather sagged against the entryway, arms looping around her stomach, and bent forward, momentarily taken aback. Douglas looked concerned, going to her side.

"Heather--"

"It's fine," she said, quickly. It wasn't pain, or the feeling of the god growing inside of her anymore - that was gone, and even this strange situation couldn't bring that back. But something was so overwhelmingly wrong here, and she was certain for a moment that she would be sick before it slowly passed.

Henry watched her carefully, from a distance. When Heather slowly righted herself, bracing against his wall, he went to a small storage chest in his living room and swung it open with a creak.

"There's a revolver," he said. "I got it from... well, you can have it."

Heather nodded, crossing the space between them and taking it from Henry's grasp. She hadn't fired a gun like this before, but two weeks ago she hadn't ever fired a gun at all.

Down the hallway, in the place where Heather's bedroom door was, there was a wall with a large man-made hole. It looked like Henry had taken a sledgehammer to it.

"I don't think you're getting your deposit back," Heather joked.

"That's where Walter is," Henry said, quietly.

Heather checked the chamber of the revolver. It was loaded.

"Okay," she said. "Let's go."

She had no idea what she was getting into. She glanced at Douglas, watching him carefully.

"How's your leg?" she asked. She'd noticed several times today that he'd taken the stairs slower than he should. "Maybe you should stay here... hold down the fort."

"Again?" He shook his head. "I'm starting to think you think this old man just slows you down."

"Well, when you put it that way," Heather said, cracking a grin. "C'mon... just let me be worried about you, okay? The stubborn old man thing is annoying."

He sighed. "I don't like leaving this up to you again," he said. "Last time was a necessity, but..."

"You're still injured," she argued. "It's still a necessity. And I'll have Henry with me."

"Right..." He frowned. "Be careful."

She smiled.

"I will be."

One after the other, Heather and Henry ducked into the hole. The terrible feeling was only getting more and more intense, but Heather did her best to keep it from showing too much on her face.

The bedroom was definitely a lot different than the way Heather had hers. There were shelves with things she didn't want to think about or couldn't identify, and a fridge open with jars of things she was _sure_ were body parts. It looked liked she'd stumbled into a serial killer's lair.

"This isn't yours, right?" she asked.

"Wha-- no, no," Henry said, turning towards her. "I found this-- all of this-- it's from Walter. He's trying to turn this apartment into... into his mother."

Heather stared blankly at him for a moment. "What?"

"There's a ceremony," Henry said. Heather could tell that much - there was some kind of altar against the wall, with things arranged in a way that struck a chord of familiarity somewhere deep inside of her.

 _Alessa recognizes that, somehow,_ she thought, and shuddered.

"Let's just... let's find him and Eileen as soon as we can," she said.

There was a depression in the floor of the room - a jet black hole. It looked like... there was some kind of liquid, but also like it was a deep pit that's depth was impossible to judge. Henry was staring at it, and the more Heather thought about it, the more she realized she could feel it, too.

Walter was there. Whatever was the source of all of this, it was in that hole.

"You don't have to come," Henry said, but Heather wasn't so sure that was true.

Something about all of this was drawing her, too.

 

 

The other end of the hole was warm and comfortable. Heather felt herself awaken slowly and realized she was curled up, suspended. Slowly, her legs dropped to the ground, and she steadied herself. Henry was waking at the same time, and he looked around, clearly confused.

"All of this... inside my apartment?" he asked.

"I don't think things always logically make sense when it comes to space and time here," Heather said. In the back of that church, she'd found Alessa's old room... the classroom from her childhood... so many things that couldn't possibly have been there.

"Yeah... you're right."

When Heather turned, she saw the scope of the room around them - it seemed to have changed entirely, gotten larger. Henry was tense beside her.

She could hear the sound of pounding on a door, and a young boy's voice calling for his mother. Something inside of her twisted at the sound.

Yards away, a man with long hair in a dirty blue coat stood. He turned, seeing Henry and Heather. There was blood flecked across his face. Heather's blood went cold.

And beyond him, Heather finally saw Eileen. She looked completely dazed, standing on a thin walkway. The walkway led to a crimson pool, and in that pool, there was a twisting heap of spiked metal. If Eileen got close to that, it would be terrible...

But most attention-grabbing was a gigantic monster that seemed to be strung up from the walls and ceiling. It writhed and shrieked, and Heather suddenly felt like the revolver in her hand wasn't any better than being completely unarmed after all.

"Henry," the man said. It must be Walter. "You're it... the last of the twenty-one sacraments. The Final Sign... The Receiver of Wisdom."

Eileen began to walk down the walkway. Slowly, Walter's gaze slid towards Heather.

"Alessa," he said. "It's too late. The ritual is almost complete."

Heather felt herself freeze at the name. A suddenly flash of memory filled her - sitting under a table, a white tablecloth covering her, holding a doll and slowly offering it to a boy in a striped sweater who'd ducked under the table with her.

 _"That lady is your mom?"_ he'd asked, quietly, taking the doll and looking it over. On the other side of the table cloth, she could hear the rise and fall of Dahlia's voice, but she couldn't focus on the words being said. She nodded.

 _"Someday, I'm going to see my mother too,"_ he said. _"She told me there's a way, if I'm devoted enough. If I read all my verses good enough... maybe I can go find mom then."_

Heather swallowed, forcefully pulling herself out of Alessa's memory. That wasn't going to help her now.

"I'll stop this again," she said, and she found that her voice was much stronger than she felt.

"Help Eileen," Henry said, and he raised his gun. Heather nodded.

She moved fast, as Walter moved towards Henry - she heard Henry's gun fire and she jumped, but tried to focus on moving towards the walkway and Eileen as fast as she could.

"Eileen!" Heather cried. The woman didn't even flinch, still stuck on her slow path. Heather stepped quickly towards the stairs, reaching out, grabbing for Eileen's arm. Eileen was stiff under her fingers, still trying to move forward with surprising strength. "Eileen, stop!"

The gigantic figure screamed, once, twice, again - Eileen jerked forward and Heather stumbled, almost losing her footing. At this rate, she was going to leave new bruises on Eileen's arms...

And then, suddenly, there was a terrible final scream, and Eileen went still.

Henry was standing over Walter's body, there was a puddle of blood, and just as Heather started to call out to Henry, everything went black.

 

 

When Heather woke up, it was to the sound of sirens.

Not the sirens she'd been used to - ambulance sirens. She stirred, and there were paramedics over her. Another two were loading Eileen's inert body on a stretcher. Heather jolted upwards.

"Eileen--" she said. A hand reached out, pressing into her shoulder and pushing her back down. She was vaguely aware it was softer than the floor - where was she?

"Miss, we need you to stay calm and stay still--"

"Get off of me," Heather said, fiercely, and the paramedic sighed. She jerked, trying to get free, until she heard Douglas' voice above her.

"Heather, it's okay. Eileen's going to be fine."

Almost instantly, she relaxed.

"Are you okay?" Douglas asked.

"I'm fine," she said, but closed her eyes, allowing the paramedics to begin fussing over her.

 

It took a couple weeks for Eileen to be discharged from the hospital. She, Henry, and Douglas drove together in Douglas' truck to the hospital, and they were all there to welcome her. Eileen smiled, grasping Henry in a hug. He looked flustered, then managed a small smile of his own.

That night, they sat together around Heather and Douglas' small table while Douglas made dinner. The smell of tomato sauce wafted through the apartment, and Eileen laughed about how excited she was to eat something that wasn't hospital food.

They all knew eventually they would have to talk about Silent Hill, and Walter, and the cult - but tonight wasn't that night, not yet.

Heather turned away from the conversation for a moment as Eileen started talking about a nurse who's treated her, glancing towards the kitchen. She caught Douglas' gaze and smiled, a warm feeling blooming inside of her.

She had him, no matter what. There'd been maybe more bumps in this road than she'd anticipated, that was for sure... but it was turning out to be a good fresh start after all.


End file.
